Place Settings
7:30pm — Home
Dinner is nearly ready.
I've deliberately left only the finishing touches. There is something comforting about the smell coming from the kitchen, the laid table and the ordinary evidence of an evening at home.
Two place settings, glasses, cutlery, everything where it ought to be.
I check the oven, make sure nothing needs immediate attention, and go through to the living room.
I'm already naked and caged when I take my position on the floor.
Kneeling, bent forward, arms stretched out in front of me, palms flat against the carpet.
Waiting.
Her key turns in the lock.
I hear her come inside, put down her things and make her way towards me. Her footsteps stop directly in front of my outstretched hands.
For several seconds she says nothing.
Then she squats.
I can see the smooth nylon of her tights, her legs comfortably apart, her choice not to wear panties quite deliberate.
Her fingers settle beneath my chin and lift my head.
She looks at me for a moment. Properly looks at me.
"Good boy."
Her smile is warm. She brushes her thumb across my cheek, holding my gaze for another second before releasing me.
"Go and make me a drink. Then come and sit at my feet."
"Yes, Mistress."
She moves to the sofa while I make her drink exactly as she likes it.
When I return, I offer her the glass and settle on the carpet beside her legs.
"How was your day?" she asks.
And we talk.
About work. About dinner. About something amusing that happened earlier. She asks whether I've remembered something we need to do at the weekend, and I tell her I have.
Occasionally her fingers move through my hair. Once, she rests her hand against the back of my neck while making a point about something entirely mundane.
I enjoy this almost as much as anything else.
I'm naked, caged and sitting at her feet, but she's still the woman I love, chatting about her day. She hasn't become a different person simply because she's taken charge.
Nor does she feel any need to make the conversation revolve around our arrangement.
It simply exists.
Eventually she finishes her drink and glances towards the clock.
"Right. I'm going to get changed."
She stands, allowing my head to slip gently from her knee.
"Stay here."
I watch her disappear towards the bedroom.
I haven't asked what she's planned for the evening. I rarely do. If there's something I need to know, she'll tell me.
Otherwise, I'll find out when she wants me to.
8:00pm — At Her Leisure
When she returns, I hear the change in her footsteps before I look up.
Strappy heels. Nylon tights.
She gestures towards the space in front of her.
"Same position as before, please."
I kneel and bend forward, stretching my arms out until my palms touch the floor.
She approaches slowly.
Her nails move across my shoulders and down my back, scratching lightly, occasionally applying a little more pressure.
Then she moves around to face me.
Her attention shifts briefly to the chastity cage. She examines it, checks that it is sitting comfortably and lets her fingers linger on the lock.
"Still behaving yourself?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Of course you are."
She sounds faintly amused.
"Sit up. I've something else I want."
She retrieves the hood and carefully draws it over my head, making the necessary adjustments before checking that I can breathe and communicate comfortably.
The room disappears.
Her voice becomes the centre of everything.
"Come closer."
What follows is an extended period of intimate attention and service, directed entirely by her.
There is no particular destination. No clock to watch, no expectation that I should decide what comes next or attempt to move the evening towards some imagined conclusion.
She controls its pace, occasionally pausing me, changing my position or offering a few quiet words of praise.
The hood makes everything feel closer. Her warmth, her familiar scent, the faint fragrance of whatever she's worn that day. Without sight, I find myself appreciating sensations I might otherwise barely notice.
She is in no hurry. Neither am I.
Occasionally I hear a small, contented sound from her, or feel the gentle pressure of her fingers resting against my hood. Sometimes she says something affectionate; sometimes nothing at all.
I learn to enjoy those stretches of silence just as much as her praise.
There's an extraordinary intimacy in having nothing else to attend to. No clock to consult, no expression to interpret, no expectation that I should decide when this part of the evening is finished.
She can let it continue, pause it or change her mind entirely.
For now, she's comfortable, she's enjoying my attention, and I'm exactly where she wants me.
"Good boy."
Her hand rests against my hood.
And still, she takes her time.
I gradually stop trying to anticipate her next instruction. There is nothing I need to accomplish beyond remaining attentive to her, and the simplicity of that feels like a gift.
It's a happy place to be.
I don't know whether five minutes have passed or twenty. Without the room to look at, or her expression to interpret, time becomes curiously unimportant.
Eventually she speaks again.
"That's enough for now. Good boy."
Her fingers brush the side of my hood.
"Come and be useful over here."
She guides me into position in front of the sofa, adjusting me until she's satisfied, then rests her feet against me.
Her footrest.
The change is almost comically matter-of-fact.
I hear her pick up her drink.
For a little while, nothing happens at all.
Then her hand settles on the back of my hood.
"Do you trust me?"
The question is quiet.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good."
She strokes the material covering my head.
And the doorbell rings.
8:30pm — Company
"Stay exactly where you are."
She lifts her feet and walks towards the front door.
I hear it open.
"Hello, lovely. Come in."
Another pair of footsteps. The quiet rustle of a coat being removed.
I draw a breath, about to speak.
"Shhh. Quiet, darling."
Not sharply. Almost absently.
"Stay exactly where you are."
She turns her attention back to whoever has arrived.
"Straight through to the bedroom, lovely. You can get changed in there. No speaking to him just yet."
The footsteps retreat.
A door closes.
Two place settings.
Ah.
Apparently, I won't be joining her at the table tonight.
I wonder briefly what else she's arranged, then dismiss the thought. I'll find out when she wants me to.
Her heels approach.
She settles onto the sofa and rests her feet against me once more.
"There. Where were we?"
Her hand rests briefly on my hood.
"Good boy."
That's all.
No explanation. No acknowledgement that anything particularly remarkable has occurred.
A few minutes later, I hear the bedroom door open.
Footsteps approach, accompanied by the distinctive sound of heels against the floor.
"Come and sit beside me."
The sofa shifts as our visitor settles into place.
"Now then," my partner says, "we have a guest."
I remain still.
"What do you think would be an appropriate way to greet her?"
I consider my answer.
"Respectfully, Mistress."
"Very good. Let's start with her feet, shall we? She's made an effort with those lovely heels."
She guides me towards our visitor.
The hood remains firmly in place. I follow her directions carefully, becoming aware of the visitor through the small sensory details available to me: the fine texture of nylon, the contrasting smoothness of her shoes and the delicate straps of her heels.
Without being able to see her, these details become my introduction to the woman sitting above me.
Our guest remains silent as I finish my greeting.
Then, apparently addressing my partner rather than me, she remarks:
"He's very well trained, isn't he?"
The sound of her voice brings a sudden moment of recognition.
I hear the smile in my partner's reply.
"He is, isn't he? I'm rather proud of him."
Her hand settles briefly against the back of my hood.
"Good boy."
Neither woman acknowledges my discovery.
A Demonstration
"Actually," my partner continues, "I think I'd rather like to show you."
"Oh?"
"Come here," she tells me.
I move towards her voice.
"She's going to give you some instructions. I want you to listen carefully and give her the same attention you give me. Understood?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good boy."
She turns towards our guest.
"He's all yours for a little while."
The visitor laughs.
"Well, that's quite an offer."
Her first instruction is tentative, almost a request.
My partner laughs softly.
"Oh, don't be so diffident, lovely. He knows his place. Tell him what you want; he'll do as he's told."
Our guest considers that for a moment.
"All right, then."
There's a new certainty in her voice.
I follow her directions, noticing how different the two women are.
My partner knows my habits almost instinctively; she rarely needs more than a word or two. Our visitor is more exploratory. She considers her decisions aloud, occasionally corrects herself and gradually discovers that she needn't look to my partner for approval.
"See?" my partner says. "Beautifully trained."
She remains nearby long enough to hear the change in our guest's manner.
"Right. I'm going to finish dinner. Have fun with him."
Her heels retreat towards the kitchen.
I hear a cupboard open, followed by the familiar sounds of plates and cutlery.
And suddenly I'm alone with our guest, receiving instructions from a woman whose expression I cannot see.
She seems considerably more confident now.
The hesitation in her voice has disappeared. Where my partner had been content to let time pass without a destination, our guest seems to have a definite idea of how she wants our time together to unfold.
Her instructions become shorter. More assured.
She begins to laugh more readily, too.
"Very good," she remarks at one point. "I think I'm getting the hang of this."
From the kitchen comes the sound of running water and a cupboard closing.
"Everything all right in there, lovely?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"Sounds like you're having fun!"
"I rather think I am!"
My partner laughs.
"Told you he was well trained."
"You certainly did."
I hear the oven door close.
"Well, don't let me interrupt you. Dinner's nearly ready."
And she leaves us to it.
There's something strangely comforting about hearing her getting on with the ordinary business of preparing dinner. She hasn't forgotten me. She simply has no reason to supervise every moment of an arrangement she's already entrusted to someone else.
A little later, her heels approach.
"How are we getting on?"
"He's lovely. You weren't exaggerating."
"Of course I wasn't."
Her hand settles briefly against my hood.
"Good boy."
Then she turns towards our guest.
"Shall we feed ourselves, then?"
Dinner
"Stay there."
I hear both women stand, followed by the familiar sounds of plates, cutlery and conversation drifting from the kitchen.
They serve themselves.
I remain exactly where she's left me, hooded and kneeling, listening to them chatting about dinner as though there were nothing remotely unusual about the arrangement.
For some reason, that makes me smile.
A few minutes later, I hear her heels approach.
Something is placed on the floor in front of me.
"Dinner."
I lower my head. She's chopped everything into small pieces, making it easy to eat directly from the bowl through the opening in my hood.
It occurs to me that I've already had rather more on the menu this evening than I'd anticipated.
I smile beneath the hood.
"Go on, then."
Behind me, the two women settle down with their plates and resume their conversation.
I eat while they talk, occasionally catching fragments of laughter. Nobody makes a particular event of it.
At one point our guest compliments the food.
"Thank you, lovely. He did most of the preparation."
"Did he?"
"Of course. I can't have him being entirely decorative."
Both women laugh.
I smile again and continue eating.
When I've finished, she reaches down and rests her hand briefly against my hood.
"Good boy."
Later — An Interesting Proposition
Dinner has been surprisingly ordinary.
Our guest has been allowed to speak freely, and the conversation has wandered through shared acquaintances, work and various other subjects.
Afterwards, my partner has me return to the living room.
The hood stays on.
"Down here, please."
I settle beside her feet while she and our visitor make themselves comfortable on the sofa.
For a little while, they discuss an event they're considering attending.
Then our guest remarks:
"I can see why you enjoy having him around."
"Oh?" My partner sounds amused.
"He's rather lovely."
"He has his uses."
"And so well trained."
"You're making me quite proud of myself, lovely."
There's a brief pause before our guest speaks again.
"Do you ever lend him out?"
My partner laughs.
"Well, that didn't take long."
"What can I say? I've developed an interest."
"In him?"
Another pause.
"Not exclusively."
Both women laugh, and I hear the sofa shift as one moves closer to the other.
"Oh, have you now?" my partner asks.
"Would that be a problem?"
"Quite the opposite, lovely."
I feel her hand settle against my hood.
"I suppose we could arrange another evening. Perhaps I could lend him to you for a few hours."
"Would you come too?"
"Would you like me to?"
"I think I'd particularly like that."
"Well, perhaps we'll make an evening of it. He needn't be involved in everything we decide to do."
"No," our guest agrees. "There are a few things I'd quite like to do with you, actually."
"Oh? Such as?"
"May I kiss you?"
"I was wondering when you were going to ask, lovely."
I hear them move closer, the faint rustle of clothing, and then a comfortable silence. When they separate, our guest gives a small, delighted laugh.
"Well, that was overdue."
"Wasn't it just?"
My partner's hand returns to my hood.
"I think another evening together could be rather lovely. We can decide how much use to make of him when the time comes."
"I'd like that."
"Good."
She gives my shoulder an affectionate squeeze.
"Aren't I a generous Mistress?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good boy."
Then, addressing our guest:
"Now, come here. I haven't finished kissing you."
A New Pupil
After a little while, my partner shifts on the sofa.
"Right. Bedroom, I think."
I hear both women rise.
"You too. Come along."
She takes my hand and guides me through the familiar doorway.
"Down there, beside the bed."
I kneel where she indicates.
"Actually, make yourself comfortable. You can sit. I haven't decided how long you'll be staying there."
"Yes, Mistress."
A hand rests briefly against my hood.
"Good boy."
She turns towards our guest.
"Now, lovely. Come here."
The mattress shifts.
"Well," my partner says thoughtfully, "I know you're not quite as well trained as he is..."
Our guest laughs.
"Charming!"
"...but there's always time to start learning."
A pause.
"Oh, is there?"
"Come closer."
I hear them move together, followed by another quiet kiss.
"You've been very useful this evening," my partner tells me. "Stay there. I'll call you when I want you."
"Yes, Mistress."
I settle comfortably beside the bed.
Behind me, our guest laughs at something whispered too quietly for me to catch.
"Now," my partner says, her voice assuming that familiar, gently commanding quality, "let's see how good you are at following instructions."
"I'll do my best."
"I'm sure you will, lovely."
I hear the mattress shift.
"Turn towards me."
"Like this?"
"Not quite. A little closer. That's better."
A quiet laugh.
"You're rather used to getting your own way, aren't you?"
"Perhaps."
"Well, tonight you can practise listening to someone else."
There's a pause, followed by the unmistakable sound of another kiss.
"Good girl."
Our guest laughs, a little more shyly than before.
"Oh, I could get used to that."
"I'm sure you could. Now, I want you to listen carefully."
Her next instructions are delivered with that same familiar mixture of warmth and certainty. Occasionally our guest asks a question; occasionally she's corrected, gently but firmly.
"No, lovely. I didn't ask you to do that. Try again."
"Yes, Mistress."
I hear my partner's delighted laugh.
"Oh, I do like that."
I smile beneath the hood.
I can hear every word and see absolutely nothing.
My partner has found herself another willing pupil, and for the moment my only instruction is to remain exactly where she's put me.